


the summer they spent lost

by slackeuse



Series: how to set the night on fire [1]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: First Loves, M/M, angst & fluff, but mostly angst you've been warned, fast burn, just after high school AU, sex & alcohol though nothing is explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slackeuse/pseuds/slackeuse
Summary: Park Jihoon and Park Woojin have always been those bickering best friends everyone loves and hates to have around. Then they share a drunken kiss at a party and they don’t know what they are anymore—they just know they liked it a lot.





	1. the breath disappearing

**Author's Note:**

> set in Seattle. because of how the school systems work in the US, Woojin is aged up a year so that he can be in the same grade as Jihoon. that means they both entered their senior years at 17, Woojin turned 18 in November, and then Jihoon turned 18 in May. 
> 
> this takes place the summer after their senior year. they're both 18. and legal in the US. but:
> 
> warning, there is sex and alcohol because teenagers.

 

_June_

 

They’re at an end-of-the-school-year party when it happens, and they’re not sure what to do about it at first. They shouldn’t be there in the first place—they’re only eighteen, though no longer in high school—but they can’t help that they have older friends. Woojin has Daniel hyung and Seongwoo hyung from his dance team. Jihoon has Jisung hyung and Sungwoon hyung from his soccer team. They’re all friends and so of course they’d invite Jihoon and Woojin to their party, even if they’re underage. It’s not like they’ll get caught.

They’re not that drunk, either. Drunk, sure, but they’ve just got that buzzing, tingling, confident-as-all-fuck feeling. They’re good at watching to make sure the other isn’t drinking too much. Mostly because neither wants to nurse the other in the bathroom. Or have to carry the other home and face the other’s parental units. They’ve been friends for so long, had too many slumber parties, forced their parents to volunteer together on too many field trips, to not feel like they’d have let the other’s parents down if they brought each other home too drunk to function.

And it’s not like it’s the first time this has happened, that they’ve kissed. There’s that one time in 8th grade they kissed on a dare. Woojin’s stomach had flipped its shit but Jihoon just leaned over and kissed him like it was the most natural thing in the world. And so Woojin pretended like it was. It was so nonchalant, everyone was disappointed. They’d been expecting a fight. Woojin had been expecting one, too, to be honest.

Like who should kiss who. Who’s going to lean over. Closed eyes or open eyes? And then the inevitable but why do we even have to kiss. Leading to a fight about how stupid it is that they kiss because of a dare, they’ve got better shit to do. Then they’d find a loophole and barely kiss or something.

That’s not at all what happened, though, and fuck if Woojin doesn’t remember it every time Jihoon’s lips are on his, melting into his, tongue soft and searching.

There’s also that time in 9th grade, when Jihoon was over for a slumber party. They’d been lying next to each other in Woojin’s small ass bed, reading two different comics. Jihoon would laugh, nudge Woojin to look at whatever funny shit was going on in what he was reading, about every five pages. Except when he asked instead, “Have you had your first kiss yet?”

“If I remember right,” Woojin said, not taking his eyes off his comic, “you kissed me last year?”

“I don’t count. And that was just a peck. I mean like a real kiss.”

He hated to admit it, and so he sighed and it came out a bit like a growl. “Don’t you think you’d know if something like that happened?”

“I haven’t either.” Jihoon sat up, looked over his shoulder at him. “Kiss me then.”

Woojin could not form words.

“How old are we?” Jihoon went on, probably completely misinterpreting Woojin’s silence. Maybe even willfully. “I just want to get it over with so when it actually matters, I don’t fuck it up. And since we have already kissed, I can’t see why it’d be that big of a deal if we add some tongue.”

“Where the fuck is this coming from?” Woojin sat up now, too.

“If you don’t want to, you can forget I said anything.” Jihoon went to lay back down, but Woojin stopped him.

“That’s not what I’m saying. You’re reading Naruto? Like I just don’t understand why suddenly you’re asking me to be your first real kiss. Because that’s basically what you’re asking me. Why do you want to throw it away? Wouldn’t it be better to fuck it up but fuck it up because you’re nervous as fuck and giddy and whatever else people feel when they’re in love.”

Jihoon chewed his bottom lip. Woojin has trained himself not to stare, but he felt suddenly too close to Jihoon’s lips, so he sat back on his hands.

“If I’m in love with someone,” Jihoon said, “I’d rather not fuck up our first kiss. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot. I’d want to remember the first kiss I have with whoever it is I’m in love with to be memorable because it’s fucking good. Not fucking embarrassing.” 

“If you’re both bad though—”

“Because having an awkward, terrible first kiss is the kind of memory anyone wants.”

Woojin tried not to roll his eyes, but the frown Jihoon sent his way told him he failed. “But you didn’t answer me where this sudden concern is coming from.”

Jihoon scrunched his nose, then pursed his lips, then filled his cheeks with air. Woojin wasn’t sure why he had to be so fucking cute in times like these.

“I heard some guys in the locker room talking about it.”

“Park Jihoon. Really. You want us to make out because you heard some assholes talking about kissing in the locker room. Wow. Should I show you the door or—”

Jihoon slapped the palm of his hand against Woojin’s forehead. “Fuck you. If this wasn’t bothering me, I wouldn’t have brought it up. And. Well. I thought you’d humor me. Because we’ve kissed before and. You’re my best friend. But fuck if I ever tell you shit like this again.”

“You asshole, why’d you slap me.” Woojin went to slap Jihoon back, but they got into a tussle instead, Jihoon grabbing one of Woojin’s wrists then going in to slap him again, but Woojin stopping him and freeing his other hand, only for Jihoon to catch his wrist again, repeat, until they were each holding the other’s wrist and neither had been successful.

“So it’s a no?” Jihoon asked. His hair was a mess. He was slightly flushed from defending himself. And his lips were a little red from when he was chewing on them. He licked his lips, and they glistened in the dim light of Woojin’s nightstand lamp.

Woojin wanted to kiss him. “Fine.”

Jihoon smiled. Then he was leaning closer. And it was so easy it should be wrong. But it felt so right. There was no fuck up. There was nothing awkward about it. Their lips pressed together, lightly at first, and then their mouths were open, hard, against each other. Jihoon’s tongue was sweet from the candy his mother sent over for their slumber party. Woojin bit down on Jihoon’s tongue lightly, and Jihoon chuckled. Jihoon licked Woojin’s bottom lip, sucked on it, and when Woojin groaned by accident, he knew he had to step it up. They kissed, soft at times, rough at times, chuckling and swearing equally, until they naturally parted.

They were both a little breathless. Jihoon’s eyes were glistening, and Woojin had to fight his urge to just keep kissing him.

“You’re good,” Jihoon said. He ran his hand through his hair.

Woojin let himself fall back onto the bed and he folded his arms over his chest. “I know. I guess you’re not too bad either.”

“Says the boy who moaned into my mouth. Yeah, not too bad indeed.” Jihoon flopped back into his spot next to Woojin and settled his nose back into his comic. And they went on like nothing had happened for the most part.

Then there’s this weird moment the summer before 11th grade when they’d gone camping with friends without parental supervision for the first time and Jisung hyung had brought alcohol for everyone. They’d placed their sleeping bags far enough away from the others that they had managed some accidental privacy. And they’d just turned to each other and stared at each other for a long time and then they were both leaning in and then they were kissing and Woojin had managed to pull Jihoon flush to his body and Jihoon had managed to move his fingers into Woojin’s hair and they’d probably only stopped there because someone had woken up to piss onto a tree.

But this time, Woojin is past the point of stopping unless Jihoon’s the one who stops him. And he doesn’t give a fuck if anyone sees them. Woojin has no fucking idea what changed, what’s different between tonight and every other party they’ve been to.

Like always, they’d spent a fair amount of time dancing, mostly together and sometimes perhaps a big provocatively. But Woojin’s fucking good at dancing, why shouldn’t he show off. And Jihoon knows how to move to catch attention, even if he’s not a trained dancer. Jihoon’s hips fit against Woojin’s so well, and to dance with someone who matches his hip rolls with the beat is something Woojin would never refuse.

They’d found a mostly empty couch when too many bad songs came on in a row. They watched people be idiots, whispered their lazy judgments into each other’s ears. Then Jihoon’s favorite song came on and he was dancing again. Woojin was just going to watch, but then Jihoon’s basically giving him a lap dance. With a smirk. Like he knows that’ll get Woojin’s attention.

It does.

He retaliates, grinding back, and Jihoon laughs and retreats. He dances with his eyes on Woojin for a while, and he looks so fucking good that Woojin’s sure every dirty thought running through his mind is showing on his face. And he couldn’t fucking care less.

Jihoon moves closer, almost like he’s going to sit on his lap again, but he turns around and straddles him instead. It’s just dancing at first. Then the song changes and it’s absolutely their agreed-upon-least-favorite-song-of-this-summer, and Woojin just has his hands on Jihoon’s hips and Jihoon is looking down at him.

Woojin isn’t sure if he leaned in first or if it was Jihoon—he doesn’t care who. They kiss and it’s better than any other time they’ve ever kissed. Woojin stretches his hands across the small of Jihoon’s back and then dips his fingers into the back of his pants. Jihoon’s hands start on Woojin’s jawline, then his fingers are massaging his scalp. When Jihoon moans quietly, Woojin pulls him even closer.

If they could’ve just stayed kissing all night, Woojin would’ve been fine with that. But the more they kissed, the more his skin felt like it was on fire. He recognizes what he’s starting to feel, and if they do keep kissing like this, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself from pinning Jihoon down on the couch and moving his kisses away from his mouth.

They pull away from each other—again, Woojin’s not sure who moved first—but it’s the last thing he wants when he looks at Jihoon. He’s flushed, he’s breathless, his eyelids are heavy, his lips are swollen. All because of Woojin. Jihoon looks disheveled as fuck and Woojin fucking did that to him.

“Hey,” Jihoon says. He licks his lips, a sign he’s nervous. “What’re we doing.”

“Kissing,” Woojin answers.

Jihoon puts a hand on Woojin’s shoulder and straightens his arm, as if making sure that Woojin stays a precise arm’s length away. “That part’s obvious, dipshit. But I can’t—I’m—you’re—we’re both—” He sticks out his tongue, a thing he does when he’s both nervous and can’t figure out what or how to say what he needs to say.

“Slow down,” Woojin says. That’s when he removes his hands from under Jihoon’s pants and places them a bit more respectfully on his waist. “I can feel it. So go on.”

His eyes flutter closed. It’s rare for Jihoon’s every thought to pass over his face, but Woojin’s also always been particularly good at reading him. Jihoon tips his head back, sighs at the ceiling, and he’s probably thinking that he’s being stupid, that of course Woojin would’ve noticed they’re both hard because they’re sitting against each other.

“If we keep doing this, we won’t be staying on this couch for that much longer. Am I wrong?” He turns his gaze back to Woojin, who only shakes his head because he’s not wrong. “So what’re we doing.”

Woojin wants to say that he would like to do him. Or if Jihoon prefers it the other way around, he’s up for that, too. He just wants Jihoon in his arms again and he wants his lips again and he wants their bodies closer, much closer.

Instead, he says, “What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Then Jihoon’s hand falls from Woojin’s shoulder and into the crook of his arm. He’s trembling. “We’re not sober. But I want to keep going. And I know I’m not going to fucking regret a minute of it. You were my first kiss. And my first real kiss.”

“You’re not a virgin,” Woojin reminds him.

“I’ve never been with a guy. And neither have you. I have no idea what it means that I want you this fucking bad.” Jihoon shifts closer to him, and Woojin can’t hold in his groan. “But I want to find out. What about you?”

“Doesn’t it just mean I’m sexy as fuck?” As Jihoon sneers, Woojin leans in to his ear. “My house or yours?” He’s close enough to hear Jihoon’s breath catch.

“Yours,” he says, resting his forehead against Woojin’s shoulder. “My parents are light sleepers.”

“Are you planning on being loud?”

“You won’t be able to hold it in.” And to punctuate that, Jihoon rolls his hips into Woojin’s and Woojin’s groan starts deep in his gut and growls through his throat. He gets off Woojin’s lap before he can prove Jihoon will be just as loud, then offers Woojin a hand.

He takes it, heaving himself off the couch. They get a taxi and sit in the backseat with their pinkies hooked together. They take off their shoes before entering the house, skip the third step up the stairs because it always squeaks, and shove themselves into Woojin’s room. By then, they’re sober. And Woojin feels a little less bold.  

“You want to be top or bottom?” Jihoon asks, shedding his sweatshirt. Apparently, he doesn’t need alcohol to feel emboldened in the bedroom.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I care? But let me undress you.” Because he’s been wanting to do that since they started kissing. He reaches for Jihoon’s hands to stop him from taking off his shirt, too, and he’s hot to the touch.

Once they’re both naked, they move to the bed. At first, they lay facing each other, just touching, just kissing. The bed is small as fuck, so they’re a little awkward at first about where they should put their various limbs. But Woojin finds the way Jihoon wants to move his arm there or readjust his leg a bit to be adorable.

“You need a bigger bed,” Jihoon concludes once they’ve maneuvered themselves into the best position to continue.

Woojin just chuckles and seals whatever other complaints he might have with his lips until Jihoon asks if he can touch him. Just hearing those words sends a shiver down his spine. They ask each other before doing anything, even if they know the answer. Jihoon is pretty quiet, or Woojin is just really fucking sensitive, so he likes hearing Jihoon’s impatient yeses. Especially as they grow more impatient because he wants to go slow, and each time Jihoon speeds up the pace, Woojin manages to slow them down again.

Together, they work in a cycle, quick and hot and messy and then back to slow and pampering and teasing. Woojin likes it when Jihoon whines almost as much as it likes it when lust fills his eyes. He likes the way Jihoon trembles. He thinks hearing the way his breath catches in his throat is addictive as fuck. Being with Jihoon is better than he could’ve ever possibly imagined—feels like he’s floating in space among a million stars, feels like he’s being submerged under a sea of fire, feels like he’s falling from a cliff but he’s not scared to hit the ground.

Because wouldn’t Jihoon be there to catch him?

It takes everything Woojin has not to wrap Jihoon in his arms and insist they sleep cuddled up like that. Jihoon lays on his side, facing Woojin who stares up at the ceiling. Since Woojin has no idea what to say, he leaves it to Jihoon to figure it out.

But when the silence settles over them, Woojin decides he’s fine not saying anything at all. That way they can be casual about it later. Just like when they made out two summers ago. Just like when they made out before that. Just like when they kissed before that. That’s what they do best. Right now, they’re just existing beside one another like they always have, and Woojin likes this the most.

So when Jihoon’s hand finds his under the covers (fuck, that feels nice) and he moves close enough that Woojin could kiss him if he wanted (he does), he feels lost.

“What’re we doing now,” Jihoon says.

“Trying to sleep. I have work in the morning.” But he knows Jihoon doesn’t want that answer. And he knows that he was just avoiding the question. And he knows Jihoon is waiting for him to give a real answer. He doesn’t think he has one. It takes several him tries. “I don’t know. Do we need to know?”

Jihoon laces their fingers together. “No. But do you want to do this again sometime?”

Fuck, how can Jihoon ask these questions. How does he let them come out of his mouth. How is his heart not exploding in his chest. How can he breathe. How can he sound so fucking calm.

“I think so, yeah.” Woojin swallows hard. “Yeah, I do. Sometimes. If, you know, it’s what—um—is happening.”

Jihoon smiles, then he chuckles in that way he does before he says something that makes Woojin want to punch him. “Wow, it was that, good, huh? You’re barely coherent.”

“I’m perfectly coherent.” He turns to his side so his back is facing Jihoon. Otherwise there’s no way he’ll be able to fall asleep. “You have work tomorrow, too, don’t you? Go to sleep.”

“Okay.” He says it so easily that Woojin is ready to turn back around and give him a look, but then Jihoon throws an arm around his waist and presses his body into Woojin’s back. “Goodnight.”

Woojin is not going to get to sleep tonight. Not with his heart beating this fast. Not with his mind racing with what he should’ve said, the questions he should’ve asked. _What do you think we’re doing?_ _Do you want to do this again? Do you want to try the thing that usually comes before sex—that dating thing? Because we have three months until we move away for college and I don’t want to be apart from you even once until then._

Or, much simpler, _I like you, Park Jihoon. I have for a long time._

 

 

⧖

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2park because the idea came to me and I had to write it. I was hoping it'd be a one-shot but clearly that's not going to happen. hoping to make it still more on the short side. esp since I already have the sequel planned lol
> 
> feel free to follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/slackeuse) for random spamming and fangirling and fic updates.


	2. tremble at the thought

 

_July_

 

Jihoon still isn't used to seeing Woojin between the shelves of the bookstore he works at, even though he's been wandering through the aisles for about the last thirty minutes while Jihoon's supervisor counts up the till so they can close up shop for the day. Even though he's been coming to pick up Jihoon every day for the last two weeks—since they decided that sex thing they did was sorta great and it's been sorta great every time since then and, well, why should they stop if it's every kind of great?

They've spent so much time together since that night that Jihoon's not sure why Woojin's presence still draws his attention like a moth to a flame. He's not even doing anything cute or funny or stupid. He's just looking at book titles and probably deciding he'd never read it even if he bought it. It's cute that he tries every day, though, to find one to buy from Jihoon. Maybe that's why Jihoon's gaze follows him around the tiny bookstore.

But it's probably because he's stupidly in love with his best friend.

Woojin glances over at Jihoon and, when he notices Jihoon's already looking at him, flashes him a snaggletooth. Fucking stabbing him in the heart would've been more preferred.

"What're you smiling at," Jihoon asks over the intercom.

"Not you!" Woojin calls back, lifting his middle finger to punctuate his answer.

Jihoon moves the intercom closer to his lips and lowers his voice. "I believe we have a liar in the Children's section. Approximately one liar. In the children's section. Are you looking for a bedtime story for me to read to you, Park Woojin?"

Woojin scoffs. "Because we have time for that at night." He throws Jihoon a smirk. A shameless smirk that makes Jihoon's face hot as hell. But he still chuckles.

"Nothing like a few rhymes to set the mood," Jihoon says.

Now Woojin is chuckling. Then his face lights up and he actually picks a book off the shelf and waltzes over to the counter. "What about this?"

" _Little Taechul Learns to Dance_ ," Jihoon reads, an eyebrow raised. "I mean, if that's what'll get you up tonight, I'm sure I can talk Angela into letting us take it and I can pay for it tomorrow."

"Oh, wow, you'd do that for me? You spoil me so much." Woojin plucks the book from Jihoon's palms and strolls right back to where he found it. He carefully places it back on the shelf.

Jihoon's supervisor finally comes out from the back. "Alright, looks good, kid. You can head out and I'll finish up the rest of the close. You dusted earlier, right?"

"Yeah. All that's left is to vacuum." Jihoon stands from the stool behind the register and stretches. "And it's cool for me to borrow those new releases?"

"Just bring them back in the next few days. You know the drill." Angela waves, balancing the till full of money on her hip. "Have a good night, you two love birds."

"We're not," Jihoon says, but Woojin is giving her that irresistibly charming smile of his.

He slings an arm around Jihoon's shoulders and pulls him close. "We will. Thank you. Let's go, honey." He guides Jihoon out of the door and toward his awaiting car, but not before Jihoon can shrug off his heavy arm.

"Wow, _honey_?" Jihoon elbows him in the ribs--he groans in pain, a sound Jihoon does quite enjoy. "Never again, babe."

"Babe. _Babe_. Don't be like this, _babe_." He unlocks his car with a beep and, somehow, manages to get to the door first and opens it for Jihoon.

Jihoon pretends not to notice and pretends he doesn't think Woojin is such a damn gentleman and pretends he's not questioning why the fuck he's treating him so nicely. "God, gross. Let's not."

"Yeah, let's not. But. Love birds." He gives a feathery laugh before shutting the door behind Jihoon. He quickly rounds the car and gets in behind the wheel. "I do enjoy people calling us love birds." They buckle and Woojin starts the car.

"Is that a new kink? Should I say that in bed for you?"

"Depends on whether or not you want ice cream."

"I want ice cream."

"Then definitely don't say it in bed."

"I make no promises, but if you pay for my ice cream, I think I could manage one."

Woojin puts a hand on Jihoon's thigh and leans over. "Do you think you could manage to kiss me." He smiles like he's asking for a small, kind favor. It's a smile Jihoon is particularly weak to (he's weak to all of them but _this_ one is among the top five smiles he's probably most likely to give in to).

This sly fucker. So Jihoon leans across the center of the car and brings Woojin's face into his hands. Instead of meeting Woojin's lips with his own, he traces Woojin's with his tongue first. Slowly. And he feels Woojin's hand squeeze his thigh slightly. He chuckles, then slips his tongue inside Woojin's mouth. Jihoon will never get used to how fucking good Woojin is at kissing him. They probably kiss for a few more minutes than they should out in public in a car without tinted windows.

"I think I managed." Jihoon says after pulling away. "Where's my ice cream."

Woojin licks his lips, sets his jaw for a second, then says, "Yeah, yeah." He releases a long sigh and pulls out of his parking spot, making sure to turn up the radio because one of their favorite songs is on. And Jihoon knows that Woojin's probably trying to clear his head. He's too easy to read in times like this. And it's mostly a good thing.

Being able to read Woojin so well means Jihoon's sure as shit Woojin's attracted to him. And wants him. Really bad. And it's a want that Jihoon has never seen waver, a want he was vaguely aware of when they first kissed, a want he was pretty sure was there the second time they kissed, and a want he was afraid of when they kissed the third time. Because lust and love are really fucking different things at the end of the day. And Jihoon is not in lust with Woojin. Though he could very well be in lust with Jihoon.

So although Jihoon can read Woojin as well as he can read a nursery rhyme, there are times he has no idea what's going on in Woojin's head at all. Those are the times when he just goes with the flow. When he shrugs his shoulder and does what he thinks Jihoon wants him to do. Because how can Jihoon tell if Woojin feels the same way if he doesn't just say something.

Jihoon would've regretted Woojin going clear across the US to go to some fancy fine arts college for dancing without at least trying to make something work. It's been a lot easier than he thought--between Woojin and him. Almost too easy. Like if they were actually dating, maybe they could make it work long distance. Like if they were actually dating, maybe they could be in love.

Woojin gives Jihoon's thigh a squeeze, then turns his hand over to open his palm to Jihoon. Without thinking, Jihoon puts his hand over Woojin's and then puzzles their fingers together. Jihoon loves and hates that it feels so goddamn natural.

"Well." Woojin clears his throat in that way that tells Jihoon whatever's going to come out of his mouth is going to be pure gold. "I guess you could call me lover."

The world pauses for a second. Or maybe it's just Jihoon and all of his internal organs that just stop cold. Did he hear that right?

"Lover?" Jihoon repeats, and he's damn surprised his voice sounds convincingly calm when in reality his heart is stuffed into the back of his throat and his heart is seizing against his rib cage and all his blood is surging through his ears.

Woojin clears his throat again, then pretends like he has a cough for a few seconds, which allows him to gather his thoughts and his courage. Which is endearing as all fuck and Jihoon's face maybe fades back into some semblance of a normal skin tone. "Yeah. That's what I said. You heard it. You're not cute when you make me say stupid shit over again just to tease me."

He's not trying to tease Woojin. It's just that calling Woojin lover would mean that they were making love when they had sex. And that there were feelings involved. And that they weren't just fucking around. And they'd need to actually talk about it, but instead of talking about it, Woojin just wants to casually slip in they should just use this term of endearment offhand like it means nothing.

"Not happening," Jihoon says. Because it'll give him way too many expectations and Woojin hasn't given him any other reason to have any sort of hope. He feels Woojin's grip beneath his hand loosen, and so he chews on his lip for a few moments until Woojin is stopping them at a red light. "I could be bought with free ice cream all summer and a couple extra blow jobs, though. How badly do you want to me to call you lover?"

"One month of free ice cream. And how many extra blow jobs are we talking about."

Jihoon's breath almost catches, but he manages to stop himself. He swallows hard and stares at the red light, trying to control his breathing and his heart and the giddiness clawing at his chest. The last thing he'd expected was for Woojin to negotiate. And of course, he avoided the important question here, like he always does, when the answer could tell Jihoon something definite about how he actually feels.

He chuckles to himself because fuck it all. What does it matter if he keeps sinking. What does it matter if he falls more in love with Woojin by the day and he's sure Woojin doesn't think of him as more than a best friend who's a great fuck. What does it even matter. How he feels for Woojin should be separated from the reality of their situation, which is that they're an undefined mess waiting to ruin him at the end of the summer.

"How many extra blowjobs can I get out of it?" Jihoon asks, now pinning Woojin with his full attention, which always tends to make Woojin pause.

Maybe he even short circuits a little.

Woojin's mouth opens slowly and he looks to his left a little, squints--he's thinking, probably rolling numbers over in his head. He's always been the type to be realistic. "I mean, I guess I don't really care. I can give you as many blowjobs as you want."

That wasn't the answer Jihoon had wanted, and he once again finds it hard to breathe. "Like are you saying you'll give me one a day until the end of summer or... ? Because that's what I'm hearing."

The light turns green, and Woojin eases the car back into the flow of traffic with his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I--I could do that?"

Jihoon is sure he's bright fucking red. "What about one in the morning and one at night."

"A good morning blow job and a good night blow job?" Woojin manages to chuckle, and it's not the forced kind. "What the fuck. Why not."

"What." Jihoon can't stop himself. The words just come out of his mouth and he regrets them as soon as they're past his teeth. "No. You're supposed to say no. Who wants to suck that much dick, Park Woojin. Have some dignity."

"Maybe your dick's just that good."

"Disgusting."

Woojin really laughs. He looks over at Jihoon and he smirks as if he just knew what kind of face Jihoon would be making right now. Oh, what Jihoon would give to punch him in the face, but he's driving and Jihoon does have some sense of self-preservation.

"What's this?" Woojin teases him. "You don't think your dick could be that good?"

Jihoon sucks in a breath. "My dick is fine. It's a great dick. If it wasn't, you wouldn't want it this bad to begin with. But I'm not going to delude myself into thinking my dick's so good that you want to give me that many blowjobs. Come on, Woojin. What is it you really want out of this."

He takes a few moments to answer that. "I'm up for anything, I guess. And I didn't think you'd be that opposed to us calling each other lover."

"It's not that--" (Yes, it is.)

"So you'll take the deal."

"No. It's totally a bad deal for you. What do you get out of it?"

"I get to hear you call me lover when I'm making you come every morning and every night with my mouth." Woojin glances at Jihoon and, peaking so deliberately from under his lip, is his damn snaggletooth. Goddamn this man.

Jihoon releases a big breath. He could tell Woojin why he doesn't want him to take this stupid deal, but it'd mean a lot of talking that he doesn't want to do right now. A lot of talking that'll make whatever it is they're doing less casual. A lot of talking that'll make it that much harder for Jihoon to watch Woojin leave. He clenches his jaw, sets his teeth together hard.

"Okay, scratch the twice daily blow jobs. That's just excessive. I do want free ice cream for a month, though. And we won't be calling each other anything stupid like that around anyone else. Bedroom talk only. Got it?"

Woojin finds Jihoon's hand and brings it up to his mouth, kisses his knuckles one by one. Jihoon chews on his lip as he watches the delicate way Woojin presses his lips against his skin. "Got it, lover."

Jihoon groans. His face burns. "God, it sounds even worse than I thought it would."

"And your face is a lot redder than I thought it would get. My win."

"I'm honestly going to kill you in your sleep tonight."

"After your blowjob?"

"Of course, after my blowjob. I'm not stupid."

"I'll just make sure to make it extra good so you want another in the morning. Lover."

"Cut it out, Park Woojin."

"Or what?"

Or Jihoon will just keep falling deeper in love with Woojin and he won't know what to do with himself when he's gone. "Or you'll wear it out."

Woojin hums. "Good point. Alright." He puts his hand back on Jihoon's thigh as he pulls into a shaded parking spot a few blocks away from the ice cream place they love the most. "But what about I make up for you missing out on that morning blow job."

His hand moves higher and then his fingers are working on Jihoon's pants and Jihoon doesn't have a mind to stop him. Woojin is far too good with his lips and it drives Jihoon entirely crazy. He stifles his moans into his palm, which only makes Woojin chuckle and fuck that feels good, too. When Jihoon's finished, Woojin pulls out tissues from the center console and helps Jihoon back into decency.

"I can't believe you just gave me a public blowjob," Jihoon says as they both get out of the car.

"You enjoyed it, though."

"Fuck yeah I did." Jihoon finds Woojin's back pocket with his hand. "You're beginning to spoil me too much, Park Woojin."

"Maybe that’s my intention."

 

* * *

 

Jihoon spends as much time paying attention to the last five minutes of his practice game as he does paying attention to Woojin, who's sitting on the grass near his bag of shit. He'd successfully talked Woojin into not picking him up the last few weeks after practice, but this time he'd straight up forgotten to persuade him to pawn a ride off Jisung or Sungwoon. Or maybe it'd been convenient for him to forget because fuck if he doesn't want to spend every moment with Woojin. Even though in the end it'll just make it that much worse when they have to part.

When their coach wraps up the game with a blow of his whistle, they gather up in a huddle. It's their last practice of the season since they head out to their last tournament over the weekend. They huddle for a while; their coach gives them a small pep talk and asks them not to do anything stupid up until when they leave to road trip south to a small town for the tourny. They all promise to be good.

They do a small cheer, then their coach releases them. Jihoon gives Woojin a small wave and as he heads over to his bag and his best friend, he notices the way the sun kisses the skin on Woojin's toned arms.

"You know I could've bummed a ride off Jisung hyung or Sungwoon hyung again," Jihoon says when he sits next to Woojin. He stretches a little as he takes off his shoes, socks, shinguards.

"Yeah, but you didn't say I couldn't pick you up, so here I am." Then Woojin scrunches his nose once Jihoon's socks come off. "Fuck, your feet smell."

Jihoon tosses his sock into Woojin's face, which he bats away with a look of disgust. "And yours don't after your dance practices? Fuck off, asshole."

"Not like that, they don't. Burn that shit."

"They're my favorite pair."

"Do you wash them?"

"Of course, I wash them."

"They don't smell like it."

Jihoon shoves him, but he's prepared himself for it and he doesn't budge. Instead, he leans into it, and the next thing he knows, Woojin is planting kisses down his sweaty neck. "I'm sweaty, you idiot."

"I've tasted your sweat before."

Fuck. How do these words come out of his mouth? "But this sweat's not because we're fucking like bunnies. This is sweat from playing soccer in 100-degree weather for two hours."

"So your neck was asking me for a little attention, that's all. I'm done. Your neck is satisfied now, I can tell." Woojin grabs Jihoon's smelly socks and tosses them into his bag. "Anything you need to grab?"

"Your sanity, but I think we lost that a long ass time ago and I don't think we can find it again." Jihoon grabs the flip flops from his bag and slips them on. He's about to get up when a shadow falls over him.

"Jihoon, Woojin." It's Jisung. "We're all going to go out and grab some pizza to celebrate the almost-end-of-the-season. Which will precede the actual end-of-the-season barbecue we'll have at Sungwoon's after the tourny. You in?"

Going out with his soccer team and Woojin spells disaster in his mind. "Hyung, who's paying?"

"Coach," Jisung answers.

"Okay." When has Jihoon ever passed up free food, even in favor of avoiding harassment about the kissing he's sure Jisung and Sungwoon saw at that party back in June. They'd pestered him endlessly about what the fuck was going on between them already, and although Jihoon had successfully avoided giving any definite answer (as if there was one to give anyway), that didn't stop Jisung and Sungwoon from asking him about Woojin before and after every practice.

Which was the real reason Jihoon hadn't wanted Woojin to pick him up.

"Fantastic," Jisung says, and Jihoon knows he's made a big fucking mistake. "We'll just go up to that pizza place up the street. We'll see you there?"

"Yeah, for sure." Woojin waves as Jisung walks off to start figuring out who needs a ride where. Then he leans back on his hands. "I need to pick you up more often if it's always going to end up in free food."

Jihoon takes a long drink of from his water bottle. He should probably tell him that they'll probably be interrogated. And then maybe they could corroborate a story. Or maybe just figure out between each other what's going on. But the longer they go without talking about it, the harder it is to bring it up, to talk about it, to confess that Jihoon would like them to be more than this casual summer fling that he’s afraid they’ll end up as.

“You good to be around my stinky feet for an entire meal?” Jihoon asks, tossing his water bottle into his bag now and zipping it up.

Woojin shrugs. “There’s not a lot I wouldn't do for free food.”

Not like Jihoon could fault him for that. He gets up then offers Woojin a hand up. Even once he’s on his feet, though, Woojin doesn’t let go. They walk hand in hand, fingers loosely entwined, to Woojin’s car. Jihoon may or may not encourage Woojin to park in the back of the parking lot of the pizza place.

“Hey, thanks for picking me up,” Jihoon says before they get out. “I didn’t even ask you to come and you just showed up. Who are you and what’d you do with my best friend.”

Woojin pauses for a second, but he covers it up (attempts to, at least) with a smooth smile. He even winks, which is what he does when he’s trying to be charming and funny at the same time. Or when he really wants to distract Jihoon away from what he might really be feeling. “No problem. Remember what I said about spoiling you? Let’s go.”

He turns to get out, but Jihoon reaches for his shirt and pulls him back. There’s something about that pause and the emotion that flickered onto his face before he could cover it up. What had it been? It’d looked like pain. Jihoon kisses him, and Woojin kisses back as if he’d been wanting to kiss Jihoon for years.

“You’ve been doing a damn good job spoiling me,” Jihoon says when they pull away. Too good, really. Sometimes it doesn’t feel real that they’re together like this.

“Yeah, yeah.” Woojin gives him a quick peck on both cheeks, but the smile he turns to Jihoon afterwards is one Jihoon can’t read. “Let’s get our free food ASAP so we can ditch this place and go do other more productive things.”

They head inside together. They’re not the first to arrive, but they’re not the last, either. It’s another hour minutes for the whole, rowdy team to take the back room and for everyone to have several slices of pizza on their plate. The coach allows them to order beer, too, and it doesn’t take long for most the team to be tipsy enough to turn their focus onto Jihoon and Woojin.

“So.” Sungwoon has them cornered. He takes a gulp of his beer, then leans forward a bit. He has a sweatband around his forehead and his glasses on. “What’s up.” He points between them with a lazy finger. “Between you two.”

Jihoon is glad they’re cornered, though, because that means the rest of the team can’t hear them and probably won’t notice the interrogation until after it’s over. “What do you mean, hyung?” Jihoon asks because his default is to feign ignorance or innocence as his first move.

“You two were practically having sex on my couch at my party,” Sungwoon says. “And now you two are inseparable. And I’m pretty sure I saw him kissing your neck after practice. And right now, you’re sitting so close you could just be in his lap and it’d probably be more comfortable.”

Pulling back a bit, Jihoon assesses Woojin for a moment and then pretends to study their distance. He knows how close they are. He knows, now, that Sungwoon has been watching them a little too closely. He’ll be hard to shake off. Next step: avoid the question. “Do you really think that’d be much comfortable, hyung?”

“Park Jihoon.” Sungwoon gives him a hard look. “Are you two together? What’s happening? Hyung wants to know~ I promise I’ll be supportive~”

“Nothing special,” Woojin says, and his voice isn’t even flat when he says it. It doesn’t sound like a lie at all. It sounds like he believes that’s what’s going on between them. That nothing is what they are. “If it was, then you’d know, and so would Jisung hyung and Seongwoo hyung and Daniel hyung.”

Jihoon clenches his fists under the table.

“But—”

“And it’s not like we haven’t made out before. We were drunk.” Woojin shrugs.

Nothing special.

Sungwoon all but pouts. “You guys would be a cute couple. You’re basically perfect for each other. And you’re telling me you’re not even messing around?”

It’s nothing special, so Jihoon swallows hard. “Wow, you really don’t know my type, do you, hyung? Here’s a hint: it’s not Park Woojin.”

“Alright, alright.” Sungwoon put his hands up in defeat. “I don’t believe you. Like not even a little bit. But I’m not sober enough and you two are too powerful together…”

Jihoon chuckles, but it sounds empty to his own ears. He hopes Sungwoon buys it. He hopes Woojin does not. He wants to put a hand on Woojin’s thigh. He wants Woojin to sling an arm over his shoulder. He wants them to turn to each other and apologize. He wants to hear Woojin say it is special—that what they have is _something_ and it’s something _special_. He wants to hear Woojin say that they are perfect together. He wants to be reassured that none of this has been a mistake.

It’d be just as easy for him, too, to confess that Woojin is exactly his type, has been his type since he realized he had one and that it included guys. He could tell Woojin how he feels. He could ask Woojin if he wanted to make this more than something and more like a relationship. Not call each other lovers in bed just for shits and giggles but to mean it.

But Jihoon offers Woojin another piece of pizza, and he takes it without hesitation.

Jihoon grabs one for himself, too.

 

 

⧖

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't supposed to be this long, but 2park wanted to milk every one of their interactions and it was too adorable to cut short. thank you for all the lovely comments on the first chapter. y'all are the reason this updated so quickly. feel free to follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/slackeuse) for random spamming and fangirling and fic updates.


	3. leaves me aching for days

 

_August_

 

When Jihoon follows in the group of twelve-year-olds Woojin teaches at the dance academy, he’s not sure if Jihoon’s there to make fun of him or to be the bringer of his death. He’s in a pair of sweats, has yellow socks, managed to detail his tennis shoes in neon laces, and when he takes off the hoodie he borrowed from Woojin this morning before rushing off to work, he’s in a tank-top.

“I thought I could use some practice,” Jihoon says. He drops a bag by Woojin’s at the front of the classroom. “You mind?”

Yes, because Jihoon dancing is and always will be distracting as fuck.

No, because they’ll get to spend more time together and it gives him an excuse to touch Jihoon.

Yes, because how is he going to stay sane in front of his class of twelve-year-olds.

No, because Jihoon is blinking at him in that way that urges him to hurry up his ridiculously long thought process and just give in to him.

“You’d stay even if I did,” Woojin says, “so I guess make yourself at home. Today’s the second to last class so we’re pretty much finishing up our routine. Can you keep up is the real question.”

“Just because it’s been a few years since I took a dance class doesn’t mean I can’t keep up with a bunch of twelve-year-olds.” Jihoon punches him in the arm. “And if you remember, I wasn’t half bad. I’m going to warm up in the back.”

Of course Woojin remembers. They’d been twelve when they met for the first time in this same studio, in this same summer class. Woojin had already been dancing for a few years, but his parents had just moved them into town and they thought he could make some friends so they threw him in and boy was it a shitshow. None of the kids had ever danced before. They were all terrible and they hated how easily Woojin learned the moves. There was only Jihoon.

Jihoon who’d sat with him during breaks to crack jokes. Jihoon who asked him for help instead of letting him move to the edge of the room to stand quietly and wait for the instructor to help everyone else. Jihoon who’d told all the other kids off when they tried to ask the instructor to have Woojin move up a class and be with the thirteen-year-olds. As if that would’ve made a difference. They probably sucked, too.

The instructor at the time had quieted the rest of the class down and finished class, but she’d pulled Woojin aside afterwards and asked if he wanted to be moved up. Woojin figured it’d be easier, so he told her he’d move up if she thought he should. She asked him to wait a few minutes so she could talk to her supervisor. He’d made his way back to their training room but stopped when he’d heard Jihoon’s voice.

At first, Woojin thought Jihoon had to be trying to comfort the class about how poorly they’d done that day because his tone had sounded so even. Except Jihoon was telling them off for ostracizing Woojin when he could’ve been their biggest asset, and there was fire behind his every word that was subtle but powerful. Woojin had thought maybe he should hide in the hallway until they all left, but he decided instead he should face the class, so he stepped inside the room.

The silence that followed surely aged him five years, but as soon as he found the words, he apologized for not taking into consideration that he could’ve been more helpful to everyone. He apologized for looking down on them—because the fact was that he did. Then everyone was in tears—except Jihoon—and apologizing for treating him the way he did. Although he told them he’d asked to be moved up a class, they all begged him to stay. Of course, the instructor came back to this mess and announced he had to stay in their class. But every class after that was fun. More fun than he’d ever had. It’d been that experience that made him work even harder. It’s the reason he’d decided to apply to some of the best dance schools in the country and why someday he wanted to open his own studio.

To think what had shoved Jihoon into his life would be what shoved him out of it.

“Alright,” Woojin announces. “Time to get started. We have a special guest. My—best friend Jihoon is going to make sure to act like a fool in the back to make all of you feel better. That okay with everyone?”

The class looks back at Jihoon and they stare an extra couple seconds because he looks ethereal even in practice clothes. He smiles and waves at them, then when they turn around, blushing furiously and nodding their acquiescence, he sneers at Woojin and mouths _fuck you_.

Woojin turns to the stereo. “From the top.” He hits play, then watches his students stumble through the choreography along with him. Jihoon, in the back, does his best to follow along.

The little shit is actually concentrating, too. He’d always been good with learning choreography, but that was before he quit four years ago when he’d tried out for a competitive soccer team a year above them and somehow managed to get in. And this routine was pretty easy. Not quite beginning level, but pretty damn close.

By the time they’ve gone through the routine a few times, everyone has (nearly) remembered every step in the choreography. Woojin moves on to teaching them the very final part of the routine. He shows them slowly first without music, and he watches Jihoon in the back watching his every move, imitating him with a few second’s delay. He’s sweaty and he’s messed up his hair enough that he’s earned himself that stubborn middle part. He’s also Woojin’s favorite shade of flushed.

What he’d do if there weren’t a group of twelve-year-olds hanging off his every move and every word.

By the end of the class, Jihoon has taken a small group of students who typically flounder in the back under his tutelage while Woojin helps the rest of the class memorize the last part of the dance. With only five minutes until he has to let them leave (if he had it his way, they’d be here until they had it all down perfectly, but he’s been told he can’t do that), he turns on the song again and makes them complete the entire sequence.

There are a few standouts, and he’ll definitely be talking to them after the last class to make sure they enroll in the next sequence. Then there’s Jihoon, who dances the whole thing, start to finish, like he’s been dancing it for years. Some of his footwork is a little lazy, but he makes up for it with his attention to detail, his body language, and his expressions.

Woojin wants to make him repeat that leg crossover until he does it perfectly. He wants to put a hand under his right elbow and raise his arm a few centimeters to be perpendicular to his other arm. He wants to laugh at the footwork he does near the end that he bullshits his way through and tell him to do it again, again, again. Most of all, his hands burn to be on Jihoon’s hips.

Class ends with a round of applause that even Woojin partakes in, a little bit.

“Everyone did really well. Next class, we’ll be inviting your families to come watch you dance, so make sure to practice as much as you can before then. And registration is next week.”

The students thank him (and some of them thank Jihoon, too, who always manages to steal some bit of spotlight where ever he goes) and leave. Woojin raises and eyebrow at Jihoon once they’re alone.

“Did you just want to watch me teach? Help me clean up.” Woojin opens a cabinet under the radio and takes out glass cleaner and a rag. He holds them out to Jihoon, who crosses the room rather willingly.

“Maybe I just wanted to watch you, full stop.” Jihoon picks a stretch of mirror to clean twelve-year-old sized handprints from. “And this is what you want to do for the rest of your life, isn’t it?”

Woojin picks up the broom and tries not to think too deeply about what Jihoon’s saying. Being interested in what he wants to do after college would mean he could be thinking of Woojin in the future, of them in the future. “Yeah, I think so.”

Jihoon speaks to the glass, but Woojin can see his reflection and the small smile on his face. “You’re good. You so clearly love this, and it fills the whole damn room when you were in front of the class. You know? Thanks for letting me hang out in the back. I hope I didn’t fuck anything up or overstep my boundaries by helping out a few of your students in the back.”

“No, no.” Woojin starts sweeping because he can’t hide the fucking huge smile on his face from Jihoon any other way. “It was fine. They’ve been pretty uninterested the whole term, but they seem pretty interested in you.”

“You did, too.”

“For a completely different reason. You’re fresh meat to them. You’re —” Shit he walked himself into this one. He almost said _my boyfriend_. “You’re—”

“Nothing special?” Jihoon glances at Woojin over his shoulder. He’s got that coy smirk on that makes Woojin weak, and once his eyes meet Woojin’s, he laughs as if he hadn’t just punched Woojin in the stomach with his own goddamn words from two weeks ago. He turns back to the mirror. His face falls because he doesn’t think Woojin can see, but his voice still floats with casual mirth. “Best friends, Woojin. We’re best friends.”

Woojin swallows. Why did that feel like Jihoon had planted a knife into his chest? When Sungwoon had been interrogating them, Jihoon had obviously wanted to avoid giving any definite answer, and so Woojin did what he did best—said whatever needed to be said to move the fuck on to something else. Jihoon was everything but nothing special. He had to know that, right?

“Best friends who have amazing sex,” Woojin says. “Doesn’t that make us better than best friends.”

“Debatable.”

“Which part?”

“The first one.” Jihoon sprays down the next section of mirror. As he wipes the glass cleaner off, the muscles on his arms flex and relax with every stroke. Woojin never forgets that Jihoon has the body of a soccer player. “It’s great sex, but amazing is such a reach. Your dick would have to be at least an inch bigger. And you’d need like a lot more stamina.”

“I know I’m a catch, but don’t let it get to your head, Park Jihoon. Did I fuck you into delusion?”

“You think you’re that good?” Jihoon turns around, folds his arms over his chest, has that cocky grin that drives Woojin wild. He licks his lips. “Prove it. Come here.”

“What.”

“You heard me.”

“But I’m not comprehending.”

“Should I rephrase?”

“No.”

“Come here.” Jihoon takes off his shirt. His skin has that post-sweat glow.

Woojin knows he’s staring. “Here?”

“Are you going to make me repeat myself again? When’s the next class.” He unties the strings of his sweats.

Somehow, Woojin’s feet are moving. “There’s not another one in here. The door’s not locked, though. Someone will probably come in and check if I cleaned up in about forty minutes.” And with that, he’s convinced himself this is a good idea and he meets Jihoon’s lips with his own.

They’re quiet and fast and rough and one of them is going to have bruises and they almost forget the condom and they don’t have anything to clean up with except the rag they need to use to clean the glass. Woojin improvises with his tongue, but then Jihoon has him on his back and fuck if he doesn’t want it. They end up using Woojin’s socks. Jihoon promises to wash them.

“So I’m pretty sure we have amazing sex,” Woojin says once they’ve finished cleaning the room and they’re heading out to his car.

“Yeah, I’ll let you have that win.” He’s bright red, though.

That’s the real win.

 

* * *

 

This time it’s Jihoon picking up Woojin from practice. Except it’s not Jihoon’s car. It’s Jisung’s car, and Sungwoon is in the front seat so Woojin’s pressed against the door beside Jihoon who’s squished between him and Jinyoung on the other side. It is not ideal.

Especially because Woojin hates the way Jinyoung flirts with Jihoon and Jihoon is so fucking oblivious it is literally the most painful thing to watch. It is only tolerable because Jihoon keeps a hand on his thigh. It would be better if he could just tell Jinyoung to lay off, but everyone in the car would hear and that’d be even worse than this torture.

The plan was to ditch everyone and spend some alone time in the water. Maybe do some tanning side by side. Perhaps walk up the street and get ice cream.

However, they get to the beach, and Daniel, Seongwoo, Hyungseob, and the rest of their dance crew has already got a volleyball net set up, coolers out and filled to the brim, and a radio turned on just loud enough to make sure they’re not crowded by other people wanting to spend some time in the sun. The rest of Jihoon’s soccer team arrives a little later with pizza, and their beach party is off to a great start. For everyone but Woojin.

He needs to find a way to escape.

“Hyung,” Jinyoung pulls on Jihoon’s arm. “Let’s play volleyball against Jisung hyung and Sungwoon hyung. Pay back for when they beat us at foosball.”

“That was a year ago.” Jihoon chuckles though. He likes challenges too much. “You can ask if they want to take a risk against us. But I think they’re probably planning on setting up a game of dance crew versus soccer team first, by the looks of it.”

Jinyoung scrunches his nose and looks over at the court, where Daniel, Sungwoon, and Jisung are counting on their fingers and looking around at who’s not currently trying to get way too drunk in public. Daniel’s eyes meet with Woojin’s and he gives his best _fuck no_ face.

Daniel just smiles and goes back to his counting. He definitely added him in to the count.

Jinyoung tugs at Jihoon’s arm a little. “We could play a quick game first. Or maybe after when they’re already exhausted.”

“Go ask them, then. You’re a big boy.” Jihoon gives him a soft, playful shove. Woojin rolls his eyes.

“But I want you to come with me, hyung.”

“And I want you to go alone.”

Jinyoung pouts. “Wouldn’t they be more willing to say yes if you’re with me though.”

“You really think if I go with you, that’ll increase the likelihood they’ll say yes? Do you know nothing about me?” Jihoon laughs when Jinyoung shakes his arm. If Woojin did that, Jihoon would’ve punched him in the jaw. Jihoon just leans away a little, just enough to touch Woojin’s arm. “What’s that for. I’m only being honest. They’re way more willing to say yes to your face than mine.”

“But you have the best face. No one can say no to you, but here you are, saying no to me. Clearly you’re the one who has to ask.”

“But you’re the one who wants to play them.” Jihoon frees himself from Jinyoung’s grasp and sets his hands on his shoulders. “Go ask them.”

Jinyoung sighs. “Fine.” He makes a show out of getting up from the beach towel and trudging to Jisung, Sungwoon, and Daniel.

“Hey—” Woojin starts, but then Hyungseob is jogging his way over with three cans of beer. He tosses two over, and Woojin has to be quick to catch the one thrown in his direction. Jihoon catches his as well. With one hand no less.

“Thanks,” Jihoon says easily. He opens his can with a crack and takes a long gulp.

“Yeah,” Woojin follows up without any passion, “thanks. What’s up.”

“No problem. So we’re setting up a game of volleyball against the soccer team. You’re in, right? It’s going to be epic with this many of us. And it should be pretty evenly matched. None of us are that good at volleyball.”

Woojin glances at Jihoon, hoping he can come up with an excuse to get them out of playing so they can be alone together instead. Except he doesn’t.

“Yeah, we’re in. We’re going to kick your dance crew ass, too.” He gets up, manages to chug the rest of his beer, then toss the can in the bucket they brought along for recycling. He throws a wicked little smirk at Woojin, then goes along with Jinyoung to huddle with the soccer team.

Hyungseob offers Woojin a hand. “Your boyfriend ditched you.”

Woojin takes it and heaves himself to his feet. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Unfortunately.

“You sure as fuck looked like it when you were doing everything but strangling Jinyoung when he was tugging on Jihoon’s arm.”

Woojin snarls a little. “I wasn’t.”

“Well you definitely look like you want to kill me for pointing it out.”

“I don’t.”

Hyungseob gives him a pat on the ass. “Sure. Come on.” They cross over to the other side of the sand court and join the dance team. Woojin tries not to stare at Jihoon the entire time, but he’s pretty sure he only manages to look at something other than his windswept hair and his lips, chapped from chewing on them.

After deciding who to put in the game first and which positions everyone should take, they take their spots in the sand. Jihoon and Woojin are both setters. Woojin’s team plays no shirts, and he catches Jihoon appreciating his abs a few times. Which makes the game not an entire waste of time. And he’s taller than Jihoon, so he ends up blocking more shots so he gets to look—dare he say it—cool in front of the one person he’d like the impress the most.

Jihoon gives him a dirty look every time, but Woojin loves those dirty looks the most.

“You want to make a little bet between us?” Woojin asks from across the net when Jinyoung is running to fetch the ball after losing control of it. Jihoon is interested enough to move closer. “If I get more points past you than you get past me, you owe me a favor.”

“I don’t make bets I can’t win, Park Woojin.”

That makes him smirk. “Wow, admitting defeat so easily.”

“It’s called self-preservation.” He stabs Woojin in the chest with a finger. “Thanks.”

“Are you two making a bet?” Hyungseob sets an arm around Woojin’s shoulders. A large part of him wants to shrug it off in front of Jihoon, but he folds his arms over his chest instead. “The dance crew will win, though, so there’s no point.”

The two teams quickly dissolve into bickering, and a team-wide bet is made. If the soccer team wins, the dance team will have to host their beginning-of-the-season party. If the dance team wins, the soccer team will have to host their next party, whenever that may be. Woojin is not into it, and it barely matters because he’ll be on the road in two weeks heading to New York with Jihoon. And Jihoon will then be on a plane back to Seattle for a week before moving down to California.

Woojin almost wishes time could speed up so they could be alone together on their road trip, but that would mean speeding head first into their goodbye. He’d do anything to postpone that moment where they’ll have to walk away from each other.

Even though this game is stupid, even though he’d rather be alone with Jihoon right now than with all their friends, Woojin cherishes every flash of Jihoon’s smile, every time their gazes cross one another, every they exist together in one moment together, face-to-face or side-by-side.

When it’s too dark and everyone’s too drunk to keep playing, everyone peels off onto different blankets. At first, Jinyoung hogs all of Jihoon’s time, but he falls asleep with his head on Jihoon’s shoulder. In the next available moment after Hyungseob is done checking on them with another round of cold beers at the ready for them, Jihoon entwines his fingers with Woojin’s.

“You wanted to go swimming,” Jihoon says quietly. He gives Woojin’s hand a squeeze and Woojin can feel the apology in it.

“It’s fine,” Woojin says, because just this is enough for him. The silence stretches between them as comfortable as a blanket of the warm summer night sky. He caresses his thumb along the back of Jihoon’s hand. All he wants to do is pin Jihoon under him and kiss him senseless. He wants to whisper _I love you_ all over his body. He wants them to stay in this moment, their bare arms pressed into each other, their knuckles puzzled together, forever.

Jihoon sucks in a breath. “Let’s go.” He releases Woojin’s hand, readjusts Jinyoung’s head onto a makeshift pillow of towels, then sits up.

“Go where.”

“Go swimming.” He takes off his shirt in one shift move.

Woojin will never get used to Jihoon stripping so nonchalantly in front of him. He draws his finger down Jihoon’s spine. “We don’t have to. Staying like this is fine, too.”

“But you wanted to. And we’re here. We won’t get another chance.” He doesn’t wait for Woojin’s answer.

He’s slow to follow Jihoon at first, but then he’s shirtless and running toward the water as fast as he can. The water is colder than a fucking ice bath but it’s worth it to be in the water with Jihoon.

“Don’t splash—”

Laughter.

“You little bitch. You’ll regret that.”

Wrestling. Limbs everywhere. Muscles straining against each other. The warm night air flushes their cheeks. The dark ice waters electrify their hearts. He’s sure Jihoon gives up somewhere in the middle of their fight because he manages to get him to fit perfectly into his arms and their faces are so close. So unbearably close. The city skyline in the distances sparkles against the water, frames on the barest outline of Jihoon’s features—his straight nose, his high cheek bones, his full lips.

But even the dusk can’t drown out Jihoon’s eyes. They’re watching Woojin so closely it leaves him breathless. He never wants this to end. He never wants to let go. He never wants to be without Jihoon.

The words are on his lips. _I love you, Park Jihoon. I’m in the deepest kind of love with you that it fucking hurts and I don’t even care._ But they won’t come out. They’re a lump in his throat and although he tries not to swallow them, tries to force them onto his tongue and past his teeth and through his lips, they sink along with his courage and his determination.

Because if Jihoon doesn’t feel the same, he won’t be able to take those words back but whatever this is that they have will disappear from his grasp.

So the words won’t come.

He can’t say it.

And it hurts so much.

“Park Woojin,” Jihoon whispers although there’s no one around them to hear. He presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes. “I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

He closes the distance between their mouths. Jihoon kisses him like the rain, unrelenting, and Woojin is not sure he could ever get enough of it. When he pulls away, he says, “Not unless you kill me first.”

Jihoon’s breathy chuckle answers him, then Woojin has him in his arms and is carrying him back to the beach with the tide lapping around his legs.

Why didn’t he just say the words?

Why couldn’t he have just fucking said the words?

He asks himself these questions over and over and over again while they pack up their shit for the night, while Jisung drives them to Woojin’s car, while Woojin drives Jihoon back to his home, while they explore each other’s bodies once again like they’ve blossomed anew, while he watches Jihoon sleep in his arms.

Because Park Woojin has never know anything truer than his love for Park Jihoon.  

 

 

⧖

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter should be the last, but there might need to be an epilogue. but the main story will end next chapter for sure. so this is almost DONE! i can't believe how quickly i'm writing this but like i love them too much and they're nearly writing it themselves. and thank you for all the love and comments on the last chapter! i would not have written this chapter nearly this quick without all of the warm fuzzies y'all make me feel.
> 
> and as normal, feel free to follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/slackeuse) for random spamming and fangirling and fic updates.


	4. grieving someone who's still living

 

_September_

 

They head out of Seattle on Friday night with forty-three hours of driving ahead of them, not including the times they’ll have to stop to go to the bathroom, the times they’ll need to eat a real meal, and to sleep.

That first day, they drive clear to Billings, Montana by taking six-hour shifts each. Jihoon lets Woojin take the first shift because apparently Jihoon is terrible at staying awake when he’s tired and he’s sure if Jihoon drives in the dead of night, they’d both end up dead in a ditch. Jihoon doesn’t argue with him because he’s fucking right.

Jihoon ends up watching the street lights pass over Woojin’s face for an hour, the car the perfect temperature, the music upbeat enough to keep Woojin awake but mellow enough for sleep to weigh Jihoon’s eyelids.

At some point, they start holding hands above the cup holders, fingers loosely entangled, and Jihoon can imagine that he’s leaning against Woojin’s arm when he’s really leaning against the car door and he can imagine Woojin’s body heat surrounding him when it’s really just a blanket he pulled out of his trunk that still smells like him.

When Jihoon wakes up to take his shift, they’re still holding hands. After he gets behind the wheel, their fingers lace together again, though Woojin is this time cuddled underneath the blanket that now surely smells like Jihoon. For the first hour, he leans against the door, but then the rest of the time, his head is on Jihoon’s shoulder, and Jihoon doesn’t even care that his big head is heavy as fuck.

Just after noon, they arrive in Billings, its ragged cliffs towering over the town’s lush green trees. Jihoon shakes Woojin awake so they can grab food.

“What?” he growls the way he always does in the morning when he hasn’t slept his necessary eight hours to be a real human being.

“We’re here.”

“Here—where?” He squints out of the window, and his hand slides from Jihoon’s so he can stretch. “Mon…tana?”

Jihoon chuckles because Woojin is too damn cute when he just wakes up, even if he’s an asshole. “Yeah, Billings. I thought we could eat and then decide if we want to camp here tonight or keep driving.”

“Stop that.” Woojin presses his palm into Jihoon’s cheek.

“Stop what?”

“Laughing at me.” His stomach growls now, and he looks down to decipher what that might mean. Jihoon has to try hard not to laugh at this point. “Food. That’s good.”

Jihoon can’t help himself, so he leans over and gives Woojin a kiss on the cheek. “How about a diner?” he asks, keeping his lips near Woojin’s ear.

Woojin is too tired to resist, and he leans his head against Jihoon’s. “Diner’s good. You tired? You okay?” He touches Jihoon’s elbow, then slides his hand down his forearm until they’re holding hands again.

“A little tired but still okay. Your phone work out here? I don’t have service.”

It’s Woojin’s turn to chuckle. “Fuck T-Mobile,” he says, then reaches into his pocket to dig out his phone.

They take a few minutes to browse through their diner options, then choose one with the best ratings. They wait for about twenty minutes to get seated, then they proceed to eat more than they should but have absolutely no regrets. Neither of them want to hit the road so quick or set up camp somewhere for the night, so they roam the streets.

“This place looks interesting.” Jihoon tilts his head toward an antique shop.

Woojin gives him a look that says _like hell it’ll be interesting but fuck if you want to then fine_. That starts their adventure of wandering into one tiny shop after another, thinking about buying one intricate souvenir after another before ultimately putting it back down and leaving to do the same thing over again at another shop. They even find their way into a tattoo parlor and browse the portfolios for a few.

Neither of them buy anything but they end up wasting enough time to get dinner and debate over whether they should keep driving or camp out.

“You mean you don’t have another few hours in you?” Woojin reasons. He seems a little impatient, like he wants to have gotten to NYC yesterday, like he doesn’t want this trip to last as long as humanly possible so they have more time before they have to say goodbye. “We can hit up a motel in Bismarck. It’s only six hours away. If you wanted to drive until it got dark, I can drive the rest of the way.”

Jihoon licks his lips. He could just give in because maybe he wants to get their goodbye done and over with and get this college thing started already. It’s not like Woojin has any reason to hate saying goodbye like Jihoon will hate it.

“This is a stupid thing to argue about,” Jihoon says.

“Most of what we argue about is stupid.”

“I just wanted to watch the sunset with you somewhere that wasn’t inside your car, but we can always do that some other time.” His cheeks are getting warm, but he doesn’t care right now. “We planned for this to take a week so we’d have enough time to stop and do shit together and… make this… meaningful. Because. Well. Because at the end, I’m getting on a plane and we won’t see each other again for a while.”

“Like two months,” Woojin says, almost a little too fast. “We’ll see each other during Thanksgiving, won’t we?”

“Yeah, but.” Jihoon lowers his head, examines the way the skin on his hands are starting to peel. He wishes his voice wasn’t so soft, but he can’t make himself speak any louder, either. “We haven’t ever spent two months apart. And we’ve barely been without each other all summer. So let’s stay here and find a place to stake a tent and let’s lay outside and watch the sun set in a sleeping bag together.”

“Alright.”

Jihoon swallows because he didn’t expect that to be so easy. It took him longer to convince this asshole to make out with him for the first time. It’s shit like this that still gives him hope.

Woojin raises an eyebrow as if he knows Jihoon is surprised by his quick answer. “Though that sounded like a proposal, let’s do it. Let me see where’s a good spot.” He concentrates on his phone, but it doesn’t hide the soft blush along his cheeks.

Hope is so fucking dangerous right now.

Jihoon scoffs. “It did not.”

“No? Too bad.”

Hope is going to tear Jihoon apart, he’s sure of it.

The best spot to camp is only thirty minutes out and there’s probably not a single soul within three miles. They make quick work of their tent. By the time they’re curled up together inside, Jihoon’s head resting on Woojin’s arm and Jihoon’s hand resting on Woojin’s thigh, the front of the tent unzipped to the expanse of the evening sky, the sun is a ball of crimson fire lowering to kiss the flat horizon in a bed of pink and periwinkle haze. They don’t speak. They don’t move.

The moment is perfect in almost every way, except that it’s not everlasting, it’s not endless, and the quiet to Jihoon’s hears is almost deafening.

There is so much he should be saying, could be saying if only he knew it was what Woojin wanted to hear. If he says it, though, and Woojin would’ve rather never known, the entire trip would be ruined. Jihoon can’t do that.

He can’t ruin the last week he has with the idiot he’s in love with.

“That was beautiful,” Woojin whispers into Jihoon’s hear, then follows it with a light kiss to his scalp.

Jihoon wishes he were saying _you’re beautiful_ instead.

“Not a half bad idea then,” Jihoon answers, craning his neck so he can see whatever he can make out of Woojin’s face in the dark. “You can admit it. I was right and you were wrong.”

“Do I get a reward if I pretend you were right.”

“Is this where you start calling me lover? God, I hate that part of the night.” Jihoon leans against Woojin and kisses him gently, lips barely brushing against each other, because he wants Woojin to work harder for it—work harder for him.

Woojin groans a little. “Yeah, I bet you do.” He shifts on top of Jihoon, his knee between Jihoon’s legs, and follows up the kiss with one of his own. Then his lips are moving down Jihoon’s neck.

He closes his eyes. “Hey,” he says, and he’s a little embarrassed he’s already breathless but he stopped giving a fuck a long ass time ago.

“Yeah?” Woojin takes his shirt off then tugs off Jihoon’s.

Jihoon puts his hands on Woojin’s hip bones as he tries to find his eyes in the dark. “Let’s get tattoos when we get to New York.” He unbuttons Woojin’s pants, but his hands are shaking and it takes a little more effort than he’d like.

“Tattoos?” Woojin bends over and starts kissing along Jihoon’s collarbone, as feather light as the way his breath warms Jihoon’s skin. “Is this because we walked into that place earlier? What would we even get?”

He’d actually been thinking of asking Woojin to get a matching tattoo with him before now, but walking into that tattoo parlor earlier at least gave him an excuse to bring it up. His voice shakes, but he hopes Woojin’ll think it’s his impatience. “What if we—uh—got a tattoo of each other’s names?”

“Where?” Woojin traces a finger down his front, then places a hand over his heart. Jihoon shivers. “Here?” His hand then moves down to his ribs. “Here?” Then his hand runs all the way down to his pants. “Or lower?”

Jihoon bites his lip against a groan when Woojin’s hands start slipping off his pants. Suddenly it’s harder to concentrate. “W-wow, totally not w-where I was going with… with that. M-maybe shoulder blade? Somewhere…somewhere on …our backs.”

“Sure. Why the fuck not.”

“You… won’t regret it?” Jihoon asks and as soon as he does, he knows he shouldn’t have.

Woojin pauses. Jihoon can hear his breath shaking in the silence that grows between them. He lets his hands fall away from Woojin’s body and he fucking praises the darkness because he knows his eyes are watering as he waits _waits_ for Woojin to do something, say something so he can pretend he didn’t mean it the way he really did.

 _It’s fine if you do_ , he could say. _Don’t you regret most of the shit you do in life?_

Or maybe he could say, _We can regret it together, I guess._

Woojin sits back, and Jihoon has never felt further away from him than this moment. His eyes fucking burn.

“Maybe,” Woojin says. Then he moves toward Jihoon again, hovering above him. Jihoon holds his breath. “But whatever. It’s just a tattoo. Why? Are you going to regret it?”

He forces himself to laugh. A tear travels into his hairline. “Maybe.” He swallows hard. “It’ll be on my back, though, so it’s not like I’ll see it that often. So you’re game?”

“I’m game. Lover.” Woojin kisses him again, and it’s the slow kind that makes Jihoon all sorts of weak. When Jihoon tries to speed shit up, Woojin bites his lip and says, “I want to spoil you tonight. Will you let me?”

Hope makes Jihoon’s eyes sting again, makes his lips tremble, makes him want to pull Woojin into his arms and never let go, makes him want to say shit he shouldn’t because he knows it’ll end the very thing he loves so much.

“I don’t want you to,” he whispers, but he doesn’t sound convincing even to himself.

Woojin kisses the corner of his mouth. “Are you sure?”

He shakes his head.

Jihoon will never forget this night. He will never forget the tender way Woojin holds him and touches him and waits for him and listens to him and builds him up and kisses away his whines and whimpers and moans.

Why did he have to fall in love with Park Woojin?

 

* * *

 

New York City is a fucking mess, but Jihoon kind of loves it. Woojin and New York City deserve each other. His dorm doesn’t have an elevator, so they swear and sweat and move him in over the course of three hours to the sound of incessant honking.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Woojin decides when they’re finished. He sits on his bed and looks at his half of the room, now decorated with the faces of his favorite artists and dancers, a few pictures of his friends (a few even have Jihoon in them, but he tries not to care about that), and a calendar he swears he’ll fill up with deadlines and due dates and shit.

“I mean, anything wouldn’t look bad compared to that.” Jihoon points to the other side of the room, which is vacant still since his roommate doesn’t move in until tomorrow.

Woojin bats at Jihoon’s finger. “Shut up. I’d like to see you do better.”

“I’ll send you a picture when I’m moved in then.” Jihoon sits next to him and pulls out his phone. He has to give Woojin one last way out, so although he’s already spent hours researching while Woojin was driving the final stretch into the city, he says, “So tattoos. You still want to get them?”

“Let’s do it.”

They head out after debating precise location and size and whether they’d print out something or they’d write it themselves. Jihoon knows he writes like shit so he’d prefer Woojin write them both or to just get it typed. Woojin, however, has never been into real aesthetics.

So Jihoon gets 박우진 written in Woojin’s handwriting and Woojin gets 박지훈 in Jihoon’s chicken scratch. His name hardly looks like his name, so he figures Woojin decided to do it with Jihoon’s handwriting so that he can pretend it’s not a name. Or perhaps he can pass it off as a girl’s name. Or his mom’s name. Anything but Park Jihoon.

And much like his feelings for Woojin, getting the tattoo didn’t feel like anything at the start but then felt like a million needles were scratching along his skin by the end. Still wasn’t as painful as he knows leaving tomorrow morning will be, especially since he knows there’s still a tiny part of him—the tiniest part of him—that still hopes that Woojin might be in love with him, too.

They have saran wrap taped to their backs underneath their shirts in the same place as they grab a bite to eat before heading back to Woojin’s dorm for the night.

They walk hand-in-hand and Jihoon is still hoping.

They break in Woojin’s bed and they’re anything but patient, and Jihoon is still hoping.

They fall asleep together, Jihoon in Woojin’s arms again, and Jihoon is still hoping. He thinks, even, that maybe he hears Woojin say _I love you_ but it was probably a siren in the distance or it was his fucking cruel ass imagination and he hates himself for it.

They wake up before dawn, and Jihoon still has some hope left.

Woojin calls a taxi and waits with him just inside the entrance of his dorm. When Jihoon turns to say goodbye, Woojin takes his hand instead and walks him to the door. Jihoon is about to say goodbye again, and then Woojin is shoving him inside the car and following him inside.

“Why’re you being so slow?” Woojin asks. “Buckle up.”

The drive is long and there are way too many cars on the road for this time of the morning, but Woojin keeps an arm draped around his shoulders and holds both of Jihoon’s hands in his. He does everything but look at Jihoon, though, and Jihoon still has some hope left.

Woojin even gets out of the fucking taxi with him, swinging Jihoon’s backpack over his shoulder, and guides him into the airport. “Which airline are you taking?”

“American.”

Their hands find each other again, and their feet fall into unison as they weave through the crowd to the security check closest to American Airlines. Woojin stops twenty feet short of letting Jihoon get in line, but he doesn’t pass over Jihoon’s backpack, either. They just stand, holding hands, saying nothing, and Jihoon’s heart is a hammer in his chest.

“Woojin,” he says, quietly at first. When he doesn’t even seem to have heard him, Jihoon leans into his arm. “Woojin.”

He glances over at Jihoon, and he looks so lost and vulnerable and sad that Jihoon can’t find his voice at first. He looks afraid. He looks like he might break if Jihoon lets their hands fall. Park Woojin looks like maybe _just maybe_ he could be in love with Park Jihoon.

“Woojin, I—”

“I heard you the first time. You have to go, yeah? Come here.” Woojin drops Jihoon’s backpack on the floor by his feet, then pulls Jihoon into a hug, and fuck, it feels like he never wants to let go for a second. Then his grip loosens. He chuckles lightly. “Thanks for everything. This summer was fucking amazing, and it was only because you were there right by my side. Fuck, we even got matching tattoos. I’m sure we’ll laugh at it in twenty years. No regrets, though.”

“Woojin—”

“And I.” His breath hitches, and all Jihoon wants to do is pull away and look at his face, but Woojin only tightens his grasp on him again. “And I’m sad it’s ending.”

Jihoon closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, fists the back of Woojin’s shirt. “Y-yeah.”

When Woojin finally pulls away from him, his eyes are wet, too, but it’s not for the same reason why Jihoon’s are. Jihoon smiles because of course this is how it was going to end. This was how he had wanted it to end, anyway, without either of them having to say something they didn’t mean or say something that would fuck up what they had.

“Bye, Park Woojin,” he says, and he realizes he's not once said that word to him before.

Woojin returns his smile. “Bye, Park Jihoon.”

Did Woojin realize that when he said it, too?

 

 

⧖

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's one more chapter! it'll be short and i'll get it out really soon. like i'm working on it right now as you type your comment telling me how much you hate me. TRUST ME I HATE ME TOO. feel free to tell me how much you hate me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/slackeuse) too. and remember, there's a sequel. there's an entire second part. please don't hate me.


	5. he isn't coming back

 

 

_September_

At some point, Woojin adopted a particular habit of watching Jihoon sleep before letting himself follow into slumber—which happened to be most days at this point. He could watch Jihoon sleep all fucking day and all fucking night, honestly. He’s beautiful awake, but there isn’t a single thing in the world that could still Woojin’s heart like the way Jihoon’s eyelashes cast a shadow over his cheeks reddened by their shared body heat, the way his chest rises and falls against his own, the way his breath caresses his neck, the way he’s completely unguarded.

In these times, he does the same thing. He pulls Jihoon closer to him, but he doesn’t feel like they’re nearly close enough. Why do they feel so distant when they’ve never been closer?

“Park Jihoon,” he whispers into his hair, then fits his head under his chin. “I love you, and I wish you loved me back.”

When Jihoon sleeps, he usually sleeps hard, but this time, he shifts a little. And Woojin’s heart races because did he fucking hear that? So Woojin stays incredibly still. He doesn’t even close his eyes. He counts out his breaths. Fuck. Fifteen seconds in. Fifteen seconds out. Fuck fuck fuck. Fifteen seconds in. Fifteen seconds out. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fifteen seconds in. Fifteen seconds out.

Jihoon looks at him from under his eyelashes, and the only reason Woojin can tell is because there’s a bright ass light outside of his window that is shining onto Jihoon’s face. He had definitely been awake. He had definitely heard him. His eyes are watering—because he’s not sure if Woojin is still awake to answer his confession, because he’s sure Woojin is awake but he doesn’t have an answer, because he knows he’s going to break Woojin’s heart into a million fucking pieces?

Fifteen seconds in. Fifteen seconds out.

Finally, Jihoon settles back into Woojin’s arms. His eyelashes close against Woojin’s collarbone. Instead of saying anything or acknowledging he’d heard the confession, Park Jihoon had pretended he’d heard nothing at all.

Woojin rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. It’s their last night together, and he has fucked up. Because he wanted to whisper into Jihoon’s ear the secret he’s kept trapped in his heart for months. Because he can’t keep those words in all day without being able to say them at night when Jihoon can’t listen to them. Because he wants so badly for Jihoon to love him back he’s stupid enough to hope that maybe if Jihoon did catch him saying it at night, that he’d actually respond with _I love you, too_.

Woojin does not sleep. Instead, he watches Jihoon. When it’s time to wake him up, he can’t help but wake him with a good morning kiss. Jihoon can barely hold his eyes open while Woojin gets up to brush his teeth, comb down his hair, and put on some actual clothes. He catches Jihoon, sitting up against the wall, staring at his back in the mirror, but Jihoon’s too tired to register he’s been caught. Or too lost in thought about Woojin’s dumb ass confession.

When Jihoon’s finally ready to go, Woojin calls a taxi, and he shepherds him downstairs. The way Jihoon turns to him when the car pulls up, it’s like he imagined Woojin would want to say goodbye here. So he takes Jihoon’s hand and guides him to the back of the car, where he, again, turns to Woojin like it’s time to end it all.

“Why’re you being so slow?” Woojin pushes him inside the car and follows him in. “Buckle up.”

The ride is quick despite the traffic, and that might be because he tells time based on how fast his heart is trying to trip over itself. He’s waiting for Jihoon to shrug off his arm or take his hands from underneath Woojin’s but he doesn’t. Is he humoring him? Is he waiting for the right moment to break it to him? Is he going to go on pretending like it was nothing, just like he did the first time they kissed?

At the airport, Woojin pays the taxi driver and gets out first, taking Jihoon’s backpack with him and swinging it over his shoulder. Jihoon looks confused as fuck. Does he want to get rid of him? Is that why every time he looks at Woojin, it’s like he’s asking _why’re you still here_?

“Which airline are you taking?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. He just needs to hear Jihoon’s voice.

“American.”

Woojin entangles their fingers together and leads him to the area of the airport where American Airlines operates from. Jihoon doesn’t pull away, only pulls their palms against each other more. Woojin's heart is racing. He’s sweating. He studies Jihoon’s profile as they walk from the corner of his eye, but he has no fucking idea what’s going on in his head. Does he even care? Is this easy for him?

All he wants to do is explain himself to Jihoon—that yeah, he’s in love, but what’s the big deal? He’s been in love with him for like years now and it hasn’t changed a thing. Why should it change anything now? He doesn’t need an answer. It’s okay if Jihoon doesn’t feel the same way. As long as they’re friends, Woojin will be happy.

His legs just fucking stop working when he’s twenty feet away from sending Jihoon into the line to get through security, to go find his terminal, to wait to board his flight, to travel back across the country to Seattle, to leave him alone in this shitty ass city he’ll have to call home for four years when home is only where Jihoon is. Why did he want to come all the way here? Why didn’t they apply to any of the same schools?

“Woojin.” Jihoon is leaning against his arm, his eyes searching Woojin’s now that he’s caught his attention. They’re wet and a little swollen, the whites of his eyes just red enough to look tired. There are so many things that he loves about Jihoon, but his unyielding gaze is what caught his attention first, what Woojin sees when he closes his eyes, what he wished would notice him before he even knew what he felt about Jihoon.

Why does he look so sad?

“Woojin, I—”

He cannot breathe.

“I heard you the first time,” Woojin says because this is the precise moment that Jihoon would choose to politely turn him down and he can’t hear it right now. “You have to go, yeah? Come here.”

Woojin lets Jihoon’s bag slip off his shoulder and he sets it on the ground, then he wraps his arms around Jihoon. He holds him close because it helps him control his tears and it helps him find a way to say what he needs to say so Jihoon doesn’t have to feel like he ever has to answer his stupid confession. He was stupid. He was so stupid. What’s even more stupid is that he doesn’t regret a single moment he spent with Jihoon and he’d do the whole fucking thing over again if he had a choice.

So he chuckles. “Thanks for everything. This summer was fucking amazing, and it was only because you were there right by my side. Fuck, we even got matching tattoos. I’m sure we’ll laugh at it in twenty years. No regrets, though.”

“Woojin—”

“And I.” His chest tightens and it’s hard to breathe again because this is the worst part of it all. The part he’s been trying to forget. “And I’m sad it’s ending.”

He wishes it didn’t have to.

Jihoon pulls at the back of his shirt, and he imagines it’s a silent _thank you_. “Y-yeah.”

Fuck, it hurts, but it doesn’t hurt half as much as hearing Jihoon say goodbye for the first time in his life. It doesn’t hurt half as much as it does to tell him bye for the first time in his life.

And it doesn’t even compare to how much it hurts to watch him walk away.

The taxi ride back to his dorm is nearly unbearable without Jihoon by his side. His room without Jihoon in it is a hellhole. The first thing he does is tear off all his sheets. Then he rips off all the shit he put up on his walls—everything but the pictures with Jihoon in them. Then he throws his sheets back on his bed and hides himself in them because—he’s probably imagining it—they still fucking smell like Jihoon.

When he can’t bear it anymore, he gets out his phone because what if Jihoon had texted him? He hasn’t. Woojin starts typing.

> **pakujin  
>  ** I didn’t want to say bye like that. I didn’t want to say bye at all. I meant it when I said I love you. I’m in love with you and I’ve been in love with you since freshman year, but I didn’t have the courage tell you and I barely have it even now. I’m so scared to lose you that I’d do anything to make sure at the very least we can still be friends. But this summer fucking tested that. I didn’t know it’d be that good to be more than friends. I should’ve told you before we started this mess that I was in love with you. I should’ve told you the day after we started it or the day after that or fuck it any fucking time these last three months I should’ve told you I was in love with you no I should’ve yelled it I should’ve told everyone I should’ve had you stay over every night I should’ve never let you leave my sight I just I can’t believe you’re gone Jihoon and I’m all alone in this shitty city and in this shitty room and all I want is you by my side why did it end like that is it really done are we really done

But he doesn’t send it.

Because if Jihoon had heard his confession, then his silence was his answer and sending this won’t change anything. It would just make everything worse. It’d make everything awkward. It’d ruin whatever friendship they would be able to piece together.

Because if Jihoon _somehow_ hadn’t heard his confession, then telling him now of all times would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Because he’s going to be boarding a plane and he won’t be able to answer. And then he’ll be across the country starting his first year of college just like Woojin and they’d have to be long distance. And that’s only if Jihoon returned his feelings.

If he didn’t return his feelings, then the only person he could rely on would be lost to him because he couldn’t let go of his stupid feelings after all this time.

So he doesn’t send it.

He doesn’t send it because he’s that much in love with Jihoon and he doesn’t ever foresee a time he won’t be.

 

* * *

 

Park Woojin doesn’t hear from Park Jihoon that day, and he doesn’t receive a response to a single one of his texts all quarter. Not for his birthday. Not for Thanksgiving. Not for Christmas. He doesn’t see him back in Seattle. No one does. He deletes his Facebook. He blocks everyone Woojin knows from KKT and Line, but apparently, he’d had the courtesy to tell them it was because he had to focus on his studies.

Jihoon doesn’t message him once. At first, Woojin is convinced he did something wrong, but he has no idea what he could’ve done differently. Then he convinces himself that maybe Jihoon really is just busy and it’s a coincidence he didn’t tell Woojin he’d be MIA even though last year he would’ve been the first to know. He convinces himself that any day Jihoon could pop up and nothing will have changed.

On Jihoon’s birthday, he sends him a message, and although he hears that he responds to some of their friends back home, he doesn’t respond to him. He says nothing. Woojin’s roommate Hyungseob tells him to shrug it off.

Jihoon is not in Seattle in the summer.

Jihoon doesn’t respond to any of his messages their sophomore year. Not even to his birthday text.

Woojin stops caring by their junior year. He even dates, though he can still feel a tiny ache in his heart that tells him he’s still in love with a ghost like a fucking fool. He almost doesn’t text Jihoon happy birthday, but he does despite all reason.

> **pakujin  
>  ** Happy Birthday. You better not be dead.

Although the response is about a week late, Woojin can't believe the way his heart still races when he hears that damn ring tone he gave Jihoon all those years ago.

> **pakujihun  
>  ** thanks. as if you could get rid of me that easily, park woojin.

 

 

 

∞

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all still talk to me after this..................
> 
> good news:  
> 1\. i have [twitter](http://twitter.com/slackeuse) and you can send me real! time! hate!  
> 2\. i have a second part already planned and it's a slow burn instead of a fast burn and i promise you won't hate me at the end (maybe in the beginning/middle but def not the end).
> 
> thank you all for reading and giving me kudos and leaving me comments. it's brighten every single one of my days and i wouldn't have written this so fast without all of your love. i'm getting sappy now and y'all are probably throwing daggers at me so i'm gunna exit left.


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